Sleeping Single
by StormInMyHeart
Summary: Introspection from our favorite NCIS agents - set between 10 x 10 You Better Watch Out and 10 x 11 Shabbat Shalom. Head canon that Tony and Ziva had a relationship during Gibbs' Mexican vacation, and slept together again the night before Tony was deployed to the Ronald Reagan, end of Season 5.
1. Chapter 1

:: :: ::

'I'm so freaking tired.'

It had been a long, exceptionally boring week. Training session for new agents... Boring... Regular Wednesday meeting with Director Vance... Boring... Unscheduled team meeting with the Morrow from Homeland Security... Really, really boring...

'God, I'm being stupid.'

Tony always hated it when he got into one of these moods and began to feel sorry for himself.

'DiNozzo,' he told himself, 'Get a freaking grip. Which would you rather have - a long, boring week, or a major crisis?' He didn't really even have to answer that question.

'Okay, so let's think about the good things that happened this week.' And there were *some* good things.

Had the brightest spot in the week been playing doubles tennis last Saturday afternoon at the Congressional Racquet Club? If not the brightest, it ranked a close second.

'Well, not so much the tennis match, as who you ended up playing tennis with,' he admitted to himself.

A phone call from a college friend, asking him to meet him at the club, and an unexpected mix-up over scheduled court times had led to a compromise with the other players - who turned out to be Emma Park, an analyst from the Asian Bureau, and, would wonders never cease, his very own partner, Ziva David.

'Ziva David...'

The blush she'd gotten on her face after she'd tripped and fallen on the tennis court had intrigued him. The lovely pink color suffusing her face had reminded him of strawberries whipped into cream, and had suddenly made him want to run his tongue over her body, to see if she tasted as good as she looked. And... this was a train of thought he needed to get off of, and fast, if  
he was going to get any sleep.

'Damn it, why did I drink that last expresso tonight? I'll never get to sleep now,' he grumbled to himself, as he rolled over in bed and punched the  
pillow into a more comfortable shape.

He just couldn't sleep, and he had a meeting at seven o'clock tomorrow morning with that JAG attorney, Roberts. The Petty Officer who generally set up those meetings must have been having a brain fart to schedule a meeting that early in the day.

Oh, he knew that meetings couldn't always be scheduled at convenient times, but seven o'clock in the freaking morning? He'd have to be up by at least five thirty, and, on top of it all, Lieutenant Commander Roberts, and his own MCRT team members were already irritated with him for insisting on having the meeting at all. And he knew he'd hear about it from one or more of them later... and undoubtedly at great length. But there was something hinky about the case, and it was better to find out now than in the courtroom.

'Oh, well, at least I won't have to sit at my stupid desk all day long, bored out of my skull,' he told himself. Last week, Ziva had taken a couple of days off, and the case they'd caught hadn't been nearly interesting enough to hold his full attention.

When they got back to NCIS Headquarters tomorrow, he could sit in his comfy office chair, and make Dorneget bring him a cup of coffee, just the way he liked it, then just sit back and enjoy the scenery. And the scenery around NCIS was usually pretty nice, at least as long as Ziva was around.

Every now and then - no more than once or twice a day - he wondered what it would be like to shove everything on Gibbs' desk onto the floor, making love to her right there in the Bullpen. But, of course, he wouldn't, not if he wanted to preserve his nose, the back of his head, or other, definitely more sensitive, body parts.

He'd always had a soft spot for Ziva, but his feelings for her had gotten progressively worse - or was that better? - over time. He'd watched her stumble through several ill-fated romances and a couple of one-night stands, while they themselves had danced around a relationship for years, leaving everyone, them included, highly confused. He'd been in agony during her thankfully brief engagement to Ray Cruz; in fact, he'd planned on declining - very politely - an invitation to the wedding, to save himself the agony of watching himself lose her forever.

'I still can't believe she even thought about marrying that jackass.'

He mentally shook his head, trying to clear it of unpleasant thoughts.

Then tonght there had been that White House dinner for the Sudanese president tonight. The whole MCRT team - Gibbs, McGee, Ziva, and himself - had all been invited, a sort of unofficial recognition for their help with a hostage situation involving a visiting professor, several years ago. He silently congratulated himself on being able to maneuver things so that he'd picked Ziva up tonight. Which meant, of course, that he'd been the one to drive her home, too.

'What was that she was wearing tonight, anyway?'

He didn't remember having seen that dress before, and he'd really liked it. And looking at it, and at Ziva wearing it, had certainly been more interesting than anything his dinner partner, the wife of the Spanish Ambassador, had had to say to him.

'Poor Senora Ramirez. Well, at least she tried to be pleasant.'

The dress had been dark red velvet, baring one soft shoulder.

'God, Ziva has gorgeous skin, all ivory and cream. She should wear warm colors more often.'

That dark red had certainly been more attractive on her than the Marine green or khaki that she frequently favored.

'God, I've really got to get some sleep.'

'I never noticed that little scar at the base of her neck before. I wonder how she got it? I wonder if her neck is still sensitive? Or the tops of her shoulders? I wonder what she would have done, if I had reached over and run my tongue over that scar while we in the car?'

He'd had to work damned hard at not spending the entire evening staring at that soft hollow, the one where her neck sloped into her shoulder. He'd had to exert incredible self-control during the one dance they'd had together, following the meal.

'I would have loved to have kissed her neck a couple of times, maybe even giving it a nibble or two...'

And there had been a moment tonight, when he had dropped her off, when they were standing together, alone, in the hallway outside of her apartment, when the idea of just forgetting about all of his uncertainties, of forgetting all about their strange excuse of a relationship, of just taking her into his arms, had briefly crossed his mind. But then his cell phone had rung with a call from Gibbs, and she had said good night, turning away and walking into her apartment, his eyes following her longingly until the closing door removed her from his sight.

'Come on, DiNozzo, stop this,' he scolded himself. He'd never get to sleep at this rate. 'Hwy, you! I'm not made of stone, you know! What the hell do you think you're doing?' He directed his ire at that portion of his anatomy that suddenly seemed to have a mind of its own. 'I'll never get to sleep now that you've woken up.'

Of course, there was always that time-honored method of relaxation. If counting backwards from one hundred, reading the maintenance manual for his dream Mercedes in the original German, or breathing exercises didn't work. But, of course, all of this was only because he "couldn't sleep," he tried to tell himself.

'DiNozzo, when will you ever learn that the only person you can't lie to is yourself?'

Oh, God, those shoulders, they were so white, with just one or two small curls of that incredible hair falling across them. Like silk, her hair was. Ziva's hair was the most beautiful color, the color of mahogany, with all those rich, red highlights, and so wonderfully soft to the touch. For some reason, the touch of her hair on his skin could arouse him in the most incredible way. And he'd wanted to trace that one curl with his tongue, watching to see how she reacted. Maybe she'd shiver, or give a small gasp. He'd wanted to reach up and loosen the rest of her hair from its pins, bury his fingers in that soft, fragrant silk, and kiss her.

He'd kiss her slowly at first, feeling the texture of her lips beneath his, enjoying their softness, and her passionate response. Then he'd really kiss her, deep and hard, kisses that would make her sigh with delight.

He'd find the opening on that dress, slowly. He wouldn't want to rush things; he'd want to make this last for both of them. After all, he'd wanted to do  
this for a long time - ever since the last time they'd spent the night together, five years ago. He'd undo the zipper...

'Where the hell is that damned zipper? Down the back of the dress? Probably.'

...brush that tangle of dark curls aside, and oh-so-gently kiss the back of her neck. He'd trail kisses down her neck, and around to that spot beneath  
her ear, making her tremble when he buried his mouth there. He'd bite down gently on her earlobe, his tongue slowly exploring the shell of her ear, his  
breath sending shivers down her spine. She'd turn around then, to kiss him again. And when she finally drew back - not for a while, he hoped - that dress would fall forward.

'Thank God for the laws of gravity.'

"It is not fair, Tony," she'd say. "You still have all your clothes on." Her hands would be on his clothes, tugging, pulling, unbuttoning, unzipping. And then she'd plant kisses across his chest and neck, running a hand through his hair. He loved that. "I have wanted to do that for the longest time," she'd say, her fingers fluttering down his chest, her nails scratching gently, then harder. The bulge in his trousers would be growing more evident with each passing moment, and she'd would cup one slender hand over his groin and squeeze gently, teasingly, feeling him grow even harder, if that was possible. "I want you, too," she'd say. By now, his knees would be getting weak.

'Mmmm...'

But he was being selfish.

'Hey, of course, I am,' he told himself, 'this is *my* fantasy, after all.'

So, he'd pull her hands away from his waistband, and bring them up to his mouth. She had lovely, slender hands, with delicate fingers. He'd trace a spiral across her palm with his tongue, and he'd hear her catch her breath. He'd move now, up past her wrist, to the inside of her elbow.

'God, she smells so damned good! I wonder what perfume she wears?'

There would be more kisses, they'd be even deeper and harder now, and then she'd be in his arms. He'd feel the velvet of her dress and her skin, and the warmth of her body against his. He'd slide that velvet down, off her shoulder, down past her hips, taking her hand as she stepped out of it, leading her to the bed.

As he sat down to pull his shoes off, her fingers would be busy on the closure of his trousers. She'd give him a short, teasing brush of her fingers across  
his groin. Then she'd push him back, to sprawl across the bed, pulling off both his pants and underwear. She'd take a step back, and slowly, letting him watch, take off her bra and underwear.

'Oh, God, now she's naked... and so damned beautiful.'

He'd reach up, grab her hand, and pull her down to land on top of him. Her dark hair would brush his face. He'd nibble on her full, soft lips as they rolled over, so she'd be on her back. He'd want this to last, to be good for both of them. He'd tease her a little, gently, very gently, his fingers and tongue light on her skin. He'd hear her sighs and gasps. He'd reach for her breasts, and her nipples would be hard and responsive. He'd give them a light touch, just a flick of the tongue. Then a little harder, careful nibbles, rolling one between his fingers and sucking on the other. As he caressed her body, he'd watch the  
changing expressions on her face, and it would be like watching a clear summer sky turn suddenly stormy.

He'd slowly move down her body, placing soft kisses all along her torso.

'I wonder if she's still ticklish?'

He'd keep moving lower, gently pushing her legs apart. He'd kiss her thighs, running his tongue along the pulse points on each side. Then he'd open her slowly, careful not to touch her too much. She'd be wet, with such soft, silky skin, that he would just have to taste her. He'd go slowly, carefully tracing a teasing path around that hard little knot, already swollen and throbbing. He'd listen to her, rediscover what she liked, let the pressure build. Then he'd start  
flicking it with his tongue, speeding up the rhythm. She'd shudder deeply, silently urging him onward. He'd hold her then, his hands firm against that perfect ass.

'God, Ziva has the most incredible ass.'

She'd push herself against his mouth. She'd be so wet, and taste so good. And with his tongue hard against her, she'd shudder a final time, crying out his name.

He'd pull away to look up at her, and Ziva's face would be flushed with passion and so lovely. "You have been so very patient, Tony, but now it is your turn," she'd say, her voice still husky with desire.

'I love hearing her say my name.'

Ziva would be sprawled on her back. He'd bring his hands up her thighs, up over her lovely curves, leaning down to nibble at one breast. As they kissed  
again, she'd be able to taste herself in his mouth, on his tongue. She would let loose with that incredibly sexy laugh of hers, and spread her legs even wider for him.

'Oh, God.'

She'd bring her legs up, wrapping them around him, and then she would reach out, grasping his erection in her two hands, and guiding him to her.

And he'd slide into her, slowly at first, sighing in relief, gaining almost as much pleasure from watching the ecstasy that transformed her face, as from the act of possession itself. Oh, God, she'd be warm and so damned wet. He'd feel himself moving in and out of her, and she'd begin to match his thrusts with motions of her own. She'd find his rhythm, or he'd find hers, and then it would become faster, harder. It would be so good, so hot, to feel her body beneath him again, surrounding him. She'd murmur softly as he moved within her, over and over again, meeting each thrust with enthusiasm. Her cries of ecstasy would fill him with delight, until he, too, could bear no more and finally cried out in sweet release.

"Oh, God... Ziva!... I love you!"

Where had he put that towel? Score two points! It was nice to know, after all these years, that he could still hit the laundry basket from the bed.

'You're acting like a teenager again, Tony.'

He didn't feel guilty about what he'd just done, but how long could he continue to go on like this? He knew he wanted more from Ziva than just sex, but he wondered just exactly it was that he did want from her. He wondered if Ziva really knew what she wanted from him. Surely he hadn't mistaken that look in her eyes in the hallway tonight?

'Does she do this?' he wondered. 'Does she lie in bed at night and think of me, and do this? Will she be here with me in this bed some day, so I can remember what she tastes like, where's she's ticklish, what she likes...'

Maybe someday. Well, it was a new year, and maybe the next time the opportunity presented itself, he wouldn't turn away from her.

'Oh, well, at least now maybe I'll be able to sleep.'


	2. Chapter 2

:: :: ::

'I cannot believe how tired I am.'

It had been a very long week, and it was only Wednesday. No, it was, technically, at least, Thursday. But still, the week *had* been very long. And boring.

Ziva David rolled over and pummeled her pillow into a more comfortable shape, before throwing herself back onto it with a heavy sigh.

'For God's sake,' she thought, 'at this rate, I will never get any sleep.'

She wasn't sure why she was in such a petulant mood, but she really hated herself when she got this way.

'What is so wrong with boring, David? You have spent most of the past year dealing with one crisis after another, and now you are complaining because this has been a quiet week? You most definitely need help,' she told herself.

Besides, it really hadn't been *that* bad of a week. There had been a few high points. She began going over them in her mind, hoping that counting relative blessings might act as a sleep aide, if counting goats wouldn't work.

But, damn it, she was just too restless, and, try as she might, she couldn't fall asleep. She knew that if Tali had come to her and said that she couldn't  
sleep, she'd have fixed her hot chamomile tea with honey. But Ziva hadn't taken her own advice, and so here she was, in the middle of the night, still  
tossing and turning in that lonely bed.

She'd already been tired before going to the dinner for the Sudanese president at the White House tonight, and, mentally going over her schedule for tomorrow, she suddenly remembered that she had a meeting scheduled for 0700 hours. 'What idiot schedules a meeting so damned early in the morning?' she demanded, silently.

Part of the problem, she knew, was hormonal. It was *that* time of the month, "Baby week," as her Grandmother Miriam had delicately referred to it. There was an egg, sitting up there in her fallopian tubes, just waiting to be fertilized.

'Well, that is just too damned bad, egg! It is not going to happen this month, or any other month for the foreseeable future,' Ziva groused to herself.

Grandmother Miriam had also said to let Nature take its course, whenever possible.

'Ha! That was easy for her to say; she had Grandfather Aaron. I don't have anyone. Not Ray. Not Michael. No one.'

Not that she wanted either one of them. But it had been a very long time, and the only man she'd felt the slightest tingle for in months had been Anthony Dinozzo, of all people.

Okay, that was a big mistake, thinking about Tony in her present condition. But it had been like that all week; she couldn't keep her mind off sex. Or, for some reason, off of Tony. She normally had better self-control over her hormones, but apparently not this month.

'Yes, that is the problem, Ninja. Blame it all on your hormones.'

First, there had been that tennis game at the Congressional Racquet Club last weekend. She'd gotten completely distracted in the middle of a doubles match with Emma Park, Josh Latham, and, most surprising, Tony, who had gone to college with Josh. She hadn't realized that Tony was back in DC, after going to New York to spend New Year's Eve with his father.

'I mean, it was not like I missed him,' she told herself, huffily. 'I just wondered how he was doing. Where he was. What he was doing. But I did *not* miss him!'

Even more surprising than seeing Tony back in DC, was the realization of just how attractive he'd looked. Despite the fact that they'd become quite a bit closer in recent months, she was never really sure if Tony even liked her very much.

But, still, whether Tony liked her or not, it had been incredibly stupid of her to let herself get distracted by the man's chest...

'And, oh, my, what a nice chest it is, too!'

...in the middle of a tennis match, even if he had just come into her field of vision. No wonder she had tripped over her own feet and fallen on the court. Had she been embarrassed by her lack of attention? No. Had she been annoyed by the knowledge of the inevitable bruises that would follow her inadvertent fall? No. Instead, she'd been rather turned on by the incident.

Then, of course, Tony had been the one that came over to help her get up. Which had been going from bad to worse. She had taken one look at the large hand he held out to her, and her mind had suddenly flashed on the idea  
of those hands of his moving on her body, caressing her from her waist to her breasts, his fingers stroking her nipples. He had nice hands, supple and strong, and curiously gentle. She had just stayed there on the ground for a moment, blushing, trying to compose her thoughts, before she let him help her stand up.

'I hope he did not notice me blushing. I wonder if he noticed how erect my nipples were, or the way they pushed against my shirt? Oh, God, I hope not. Damn it, Ziva! At this rate, you are never going to get to sleep tonight.'

Ziva suddenly realized that she had become incredibly aware of her own breasts. Her nipples were rock hard, and, as she rolled over in her lonely bed, her nightshirt rubbed against them, teasing them even further. Teasing was all well and good, but she'd been teasing herself, one way or another, all week long. Not to mention tonight, at the dinner party.

She wondered what in hell had possessed her to sit there and stare at Tony's very fine ass that evening? Well, it was certainly more interesting than the  
dinner itself had been, even with all those good-looking men wearing tuxedos and dress uniforms.

'I was Googling him, for God's sake,' she scolded herself. 'Of course, Tony does have a very nice ass; hell, he has a fantastic ass, the kind that makes me just want to... Okay, if I am going to get *any* sleep tonight, I need to drag my mind out of the gutter it is currently inhabiting,' she sternly told herself.

She wondered if Senora Ramirez, who had been sitting across from her at dinner, had known what she was thinking - or worse, feeling? Probably, but the Spanish Ambassador's wife had looked like she thought the not-so-subtle glances she and Tony had been throwing each other all evening long incredibly amusing. Ziva sincerely hoped that no one else, especially Gibbs, McGee, had noticed what had been going on.

'Well, it is obvious that I am not going to get any sleep this way. Good-bye, nightshirt!' The skimpy silk gown flew threw the air and landed on a chair.

God, it felt wonderful to take her clothes off. There had been times tonight when she was sure everyone could see her nipples, straining at the bodice of her gown. She wondered if Tony had noticed them at dinner. Oh, why did this always happen? Why couldn't she get her mind out of the gutter tonight?

And Tony had looked *so* very attractive in that tuxedo. There had been a moment tonight, when they were standing together, alone, in the hallway outside of her apartment, when the idea of just forgetting about all of her uncertainties, of forgetting about Gibbs and his rules, of just crawling into Tony's arms and letting her feelings take her wherever they wanted, had briefly crossed her mind. But then his cell phone had shrilled out its demand for attention, and she had simply said good night, before turning away and walking into her apartment and closing the door behind her.

She'd known that Tony had wanted her. She'd recognized that look on his face; the slightly glazed look in his eyes, the way he kept moistening his lips. It was the kind of sexual tension between a man and a woman that was virtually impossible to miss. Even for someone as evidently ignorant about men and their behavior as she seemed to be.

'Oh, come now, Ziva. Stop thinking about this,' she whined.

She'd never get to sleep at this rate, and she was going to have to be on her toes at that early meeting. Well, there was one surefire way to relax, even if it wasn't nearly as much fun to do all by yourself.

She'd wanted to just pull Tony into her apartment, shutting the door on everyone and everything else, and drag him with her into her bedroom.

'I wonder what he would do...'

Lowering his head, he'd kiss her gently. The next kiss would be firmer, and her lips would give way, just slightly, beneath his. She'd gasp slightly, as the  
very tip of his tongue brushed lightly and sensuously over her mouth. As her lips softened beneath his, he'd gently thrust his tongue into her mouth. She'd be able to taste the brandy he'd had at dinner on his breath, and that would excite her, just a little. Tentatively at first, her tongue would seek his out, fencing with his. For a long time, they'd just stand there, their mouths hungrily exploring each other, their bodies pressed against each other.

Then, finally, reaching up, he would loosen her hair, and it would fall down to her shoulders, his hands sliding through it, singling out one curl, which he'd take between two fingers and kiss. Reaching up, she'd softly caress his jawline, feeling the faint stubble of whiskers beneath her fingertips.

She'd undo his tuxedo jacket, and push it off of his shoulders and down his arms, dropping it to the floor. Then she'd undo his bow tie and the studs on his shirt, baring him to the waist. He'd be very close to her, and she'd be able to smell the male scent of him, along with just a hint of his cologne.

'I have always loved his cologne. I wonder what brand it is?'

She'd feel the heat of his body, and see the pulse beating wildly at the base of his throat. He would pull away from her, without saying a word, and, not  
stopping with his shirt, which would follow his jacket onto the floor, he'd take off the rest of his clothes, with almost frantic haste.

His hazel eyes would look at her thoughtfully, then he'd reach out and slowly unzip her dress, just enough to slide it down her shoulder and free her breasts. His thumb would slowly encircle her nipple, already thrusting forward with a desire she couldn't hide, and then he'd lower his head to take it into his mouth, to tease it with his warm, velvety tongue.

'Oh, my, that feels wonderful.'

His hands would push her dress a little further down her arm, and, finally, with the help of gravity, it would fall with a silken hiss to the floor, leaving  
her bare to his eyes.

'I really ought to cut back on those Philly cheesesteaks and step up my running.'

Then his hands would slide down her sides, filling themselves with her hips, caressing her legs. He'd slide one hand along the satiny skin of her leg, to  
stroke her between her trembling thighs. He'd find her already wet with desire for him, and his hand would tease deliciously at her, the fingers seeking, finding, stroking, as she writhed under his touch. When those fingers found what they were looking for, she'd have to bite her lip to keep from crying out loud. And as he'd touch her, she'd find herself unable to keep from caressing him in return. Her fingers would move through his hair, enjoying the silky feel of it.

'God, I have always loved touching his hair!'

Her hands would caress the back of his neck and sweep down over his smooth, muscled shoulders, down to his firm buttocks, and she'd dig her nails lightly into the hard flesh of his back, making him groan in anticipation of further delights.

By now, she'd be begging him to take her, to make love to her, and that voice, that wonderful, incredibly sensual voice, would murmur in her ear, "Of course, I will, Ziva." Sometimes just hearing the sound of his voice, especially when he said her name, was enough to make her a little weak in the knees.

He'd sweep her into his arms and walk across the room to lay her gently on the bed. His body would cover hers, their mouths open and their tongues entwined together again. The touch of his body on hers would be explosive. She would be able to feel every nuance: the dark hair on his legs and chest; the beat of his heart against hers; the softness of his skin; the very masculine, personal scent of him; the wiry curls between his legs that pressed against her own; his hardness pressing into her thigh. Together they would explore each other's bodies, caressing, touching each other with tenderness, and anticipating, without haste, the final pleasure to come.

Finally, with a sigh, she'd open her legs to him, murmuring against his mouth, "Oh, Tony! Yes!" And tenderly, slowly, he'd enter her. He'd grasp her hips,  
pulling her body even closer to his, thrusting back and forth until she cried out with pleasure from feeling him, warm and hard, within her. He'd move slowly at first, with deep measured strokes, until she'd moan, softly, uncontrollably. Deep within her, she would feel the tenseness mounting until it was almost unbearable. She'd be desperate for release, but he'd withhold it, easing off just a little until the tension receded like a wave from the shore. Then their thrusting would increase in speed, with her knowing that she was going to die from the pleasure he was giving her. Her teeth would sink into his shoulder to muffle her cries as they found release with each other.

"Oh, God... Oh, yes... Tony, I love you!"

'Well...' She shook her head, wondering what deep recesses of her psyche that unexpected sentiment had come from.

Ziva knew she wanted more from Anthony Dinozzo, from any man, than just sex; she wanted to spend the rest of her life with the *right* man. If all she wanted was sex, she could get that any night of the week, from any bar in DC. But, no, she wanted, she *needed* much more than that. And she'd decided that, if she couldn't have everything from a relationship, she'd rather have no relationship at all.

She wondered, now, after all the time they'd known each other, if Tony really knew what it was that *he* wanted from her. Would Anthony Dinozzo be the man who could make the kind of commitment that she needed from the man in her life?

'Does he do this?' she wondered. 'Does he lie in bed at night, and think of me, and do this?' Would they ever share a bed, would she ever get the chance to reaqauint herself with what he tastes like, where he's ticklish, what he likes?

Maybe someday. It was a New Year, after all, and maybe the next time the opportunity presented itself, she wouldn't let it slip through her fingers.

'Oh, well, at least now maybe I'll be able to sleep.'


End file.
